


Bathroom Oracle

by BloodOnUrsuline



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Are they magic or just really good at reading people?, Definitely magic, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gen, Magic, Modern Era, Modern Oracle of Delphi, Oracle of Delphi - Freeform, Oracles, Prophecy, Queer Themes, Self realization, Toxic Relationships, club drugs, clubs, they're lesbians harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodOnUrsuline/pseuds/BloodOnUrsuline
Summary: A take on a tumblr post that posited that drunk women in bathrooms are actually modern oracles.





	Bathroom Oracle

 

“You…you should leave him.”

 

Her head snapped up at the slurred statement, her focus on scrubbing her hands raw suddenly abandoned. At first, all she saw was her own reflection and all the the time and effort put into her makeup. But she found herself frowning at the visage. The artful use of contour and color to make her eyes softer, cheeks razor sharp, lips impossibly plump and lush now seemed out of place and wrong in the dull bathroom light. Licking her lips, she grimaced at how thick and sticky the gloss made them feel. Around her, women moved in and out of stalls, slipping over to the sink to quickly wash up before heading back in the darkened room beyond where the music pulsed.

 

“I…I’m serious. Leave him.”

 

This time, she turned her head to the voice and found a common place sight in the ladies bathroom of a club.

 

The woman’s hair, which appeared to recently been straightened to almost a scary degree, appeared mussed and almost knotty on the top. Sweaty fingers and the crush of bodies can do that to anyone who preferred their tresses down instead of up in the club. The sleeveless pink dress clung to her softly curved form, the layer of sheer material over top fluttering as people walked by. As she turned her head and pressed her temple into the mirror, the light traced the holographic shimmer that appeared to coat her entire face. A trail of dark purple glitter started at the corner of her left eye and ended somewhere on her jawline, hidden beneath the sweat dull brunette hair that clung to her neck. Pale iridescent eyeshadow went from her lashes to her eyebrow, a thick eyeliner cutting across the bottom where it appeared to have smudged along with mascara. Her pale skin appeared almost translucent.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

The woman opened her eyes, focusing on her with a scary intensity despite appearing dulled by some chemical or another. And if she wasn’t mistaken, they seemed to be…glowing?

 

“You hate when he does this. And you hate when you do this,” she murmured, her voice clear despite the ongoing traffic in the ladies room and them being about 3 sinks away from each other. “The clothes, the work, the effort…all wasted. Private booths set back, hidden. Bottle service with amber fluids that make you gag. Egos laden with testosterone supplements and shitty whiskey. Your fifty dollar manicure destroyed because he can’t handle being told no even with cameras on him and his friends laughing because their girlfriends won’t do that.”

 

Suddenly she moved. Well, not moved. More like appeared right next to her at the sink. Despite the shock, her hands on her cheeks held her so softly, so gently. This much closer meant seeing, feeling, hearing, smelling. The stars on her cheek created a constellation of some kind, a specific pattern of larger pieces surrounded by smaller specks. Finger tips traced like feathers over her heavily gelled brows and cheekbones, almost as if trying to gently wipe it all away. Fruity alcohol on her breath gave away her night’s intake of pink and green and blue speciality cocktails. Dilated pupils spoke of the X she saw circulating earlier in the evening. Cracked pastel lipstick attested to many glasses, or many kisses, throughout the night.

 

But she held still as this drunken creature caressed and touched her.

 

“Walk past the darkness and into the light,” she whispered, lips brushing the tip of her nose. “Beyond the depth and breadth of hubris and into the brightness. These dull hues hold you back. There is not a true bone in what they built to make their beast. They’ll lay in the rot and call it caviar of the highest grade. They’ll coat their cocks in champagne and call it a delicacy. They see romance as a signed bill and jack rabbit fuck until they fall apart while you gape, empty and unfullfilled. Loneliness for a high-rise apartment and diamond tennis bracelets. Pull away the false skin they put over you, lay bare your body and let all of it wash away. Bathe yourself in sensation as your real flesh grows, covered in flowers and sweets and long colorful ribbons. Wear your black dress with jeweled piercings and neon underwear. Demand sacrifice at your altar and give such offerings in return.” Cradling her face close, nose to nose, the glow in her eyes becomes nearly piercing. “Open your eyes, all of them, and see what stands before you.”

 

The woman leans back, taking a sip from a martini glass that appeared on the small space between sinks, the swirling blue liquor hypnotizing as she drains it away in one go. Stunned, she just stands there as the cool water of the still running sink rushes over her forgotten hands. The glass clinks against the marble before a soft burp escapes the woman’s mouth followed by a giggle. This strange bathroom oracle appears lost all at once but then turns back to her with a wide grin.

 

“Beige….beige is not a color for you,” she slurs at her, one long stiletto nail pointing at her lips. Reaching over and grabbing paper towels, she sticks them under the water before taking her face once more in hand and firmly wiping at her lips which nearly causes her to protest. She coated these things with every product imaginable to keep them painted all night long. It takes two makeup wipes and cold cream to remove it before bed. But in a matter of moments, this nymph leans back with a satisfied smile. Her hand dips to the space between her breasts and she pulls out a tube of something. “This,” she announces, “this is your color!”

 

The applicator stick is soaked in a soft lavender color and as the woman applies it, smells vaguely of a candy she can’t quite name. It’s applied then applied again in a second coat before the woman leans back with a drunken smile of purest happiness. “Look at you, girl!” she crows, slapping a hand on the mirror. She turns back to her reflect then and is shocked.

 

Her finely applied contouring seems to have melted away, a layer of iridescent shimmer replacing it on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. The pale color on her lips offsetting her smoky eyes in a perfect compliment. Different. New. Somehow…better.

 

A soft rapid tap on her shoulder returned her attention to the woman who seemed to have gotten another drink in the short time she looked away. “That-that-that _queen_ …right over there,” she whispers loudly, pointing towards the door. “She’s been checking you ouuuuuuuuut for a while now.” Her eyes move down the length of the bathroom to see who she’s talking about and nearly loses her breath in the process. The woman is tall, lithe, wearing an impossibly white dress that is accented by the bright florescent jewelry and colorful makeup. Long dark braids cover her head, the rows on her head like waves. The bun of braids on her crown defies gravity with it’s bright ribbons woven through it.

 

Their eyes meet, the most beautiful deep brown against her own soft hazel. Both smile at the same time. Without thinking about it, she walks over and stands before this amazing woman. A nervous smile stretches over her face as she grasps at the ability to speak words. But thankfully, the other woman doesn’t have such reservations and smiles brightly at her. “I’m Amala,” she says, her voice a siren’s call, perfectly clear despite the ambient noise.

 

“I’m Sasha,” she responds. Without further words, their hands meet and when they exit into the main floor, they keep hold of each other.

 

* * *

 

It’s a few weeks before they end up back at the club, this time with a blend of their friend groups. They pregame at Sasha’s apartment with gin and juice before they pregame with bottles of pineapple soda blended with mango vodka. 

 

So much better than cheap whiskey passed off as top shelf booze.

 

There’s no private tables, no pretense, no asshole buddies to joke about hand jobs and exhibitionism. Sasha see him as they pass to the floor, alone with his friends, supping himself on a warm glass. He sees her in turn, his face a moue of confusion then dissatisfaction. That break up took her all of 4 lines of text and a blocked number.

 

“You want hand jobs? Get one of your boys to give you one. You’re already circle jerking each other anyway. Fuck off and never call me again.”

 

She grins and turns back to Amala, bringing their joined hands to her lips and kissing her knuckles with reverence as she remembers the words:

 

_Open your eyes, all of them, and see what stands before you._

 

Sasha hasn't looked back yet and knows she never will.

 

* * *

 

It’s pure dancing, sweaty bodies covered in body glitter and day-glo. When the make their way to the bar, Amala presses against her back, kissing her shoulder and leaning on her as they wait for the bartender to reach them. As he does, Sasha sees someone next to her with a familiar cocktail, swirling blue, a small glow stick floating in it and giving the appearance of the cosmos in a martini glass. A notion passes through the front of her mind. They place their order quickly and as he goes to take her credit card, the notion fully develops and she points to another one of those cocktails going by her.

 

“This might sound weird,” she basically shouts over the music, “But can you make one of those up and send it to…well to the ladies bathroom?”

 

The bartender’s friendly customer service face breaks into a huge genuine smile. “Of course,” he calls back. “Which one do I give it to?”

 

Sasha represses the mild shock at his smiling understanding before calling back, “She wore the pink dress.”

 

“You got it!” he smiles, whipping up the drink lightening fast and handing it off to a waitress who appears to be wearing a small white toga dress. As she signs the receipt and hands it back to him, he gives Sasha a wink. “They demand sacrifice. Thankfully, around here, they prefer payment in cocktails.”

 

* * *

 

Thankfully the line isn’t long and the stalls are cleaner than usual club restrooms. Though it takes her a good five minutes to wiggle out of her Spanx and actually get to the toilet itself, the relief is immediate. As her bladder stops aching, she leans against the wall of the stall and tries to force back the tears. It’s been a long week. No, fucking scratch that. It’s been a long goddamn few weeks going on a few years. She hoped the martinis and music would be a distraction like they usually were but tonight, her thoughts dogged her persistently. 

 

After what felt like a lifetime within a moment, she decides to ditch the body shaper, ripping off at her feet and shoving it into her small bag. Taking out her phone, she grimaced and tears escaped to see the ten missed messages and two missed calls from her parents. Who else would bother her on a Friday night after a week in hell? Did they not get that her job took up everything, including her free time?

 

Thankful for automatic flushing toilets, she made her way out to the sink. Despite wearing make up, she splashed the refreshingly chilly water over her face several times before reaching for the pile of paper towels on the counter. Instead of grabbing one, she felt one pressed into her hand and nodded, murmuring, “Thank you.”

 

“Oh, honey…you are welcome. But you, you…honey, you need to leave that…fucking POS job.” Standing up straight, she met the slightly blurred form of a woman leaning on the counter next to her. Blinking the water from her eyes, she took in the form of the woman who made the statement. Wearing a tight body con dress in bright red and sporting nails covered in jewels and as sharp as knives, she held her breath as her deep ruby stained lips pulled up to reveal a drunken smirk. Her olive dark skin glowed in the ambient light, almost absorbing it to cast it back in an ethereal form.

 

“How—who are you?” she asked.

 

“Not remotely im-im-important,” the woman stumbled out, waving her free hand about. The other held a cocktail that swirled red, like blood and stars blended together in her cup. “What is though, honey, is that-that-that the fates have much much much bigger plans for you than…than you know.” Absorbed in the words, she missed as the waitress arrived in the bathroom, expertly navigating the crowd. In fact, no one blinked at the oddity as she delivered a similarly swirling cocktail in blue to woman lounging on the open area near the sinks, dressed in pink. The woman gave her a sloppy smile and loud thanks, taking up the glass with glee before raising it up to her fellow prophetess already at work.

 

Her next patron would be coming soon. It was Friday night after all. And Club Delphi was always busy on Friday nights.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my best friend, A.


End file.
